Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 1) Read Free

whispered to herself. Rebecca could almost hear the warble of birds happily flitting through her future orchards and feel the sun streaming through the trees. She’d go there, she vowed, and gather the magic of it into her lungs.
          The woman across the aisle climbed back to her seat and the filthy toddler peered sadly towards Rebecca while she delicately sampled her apple.
       “Why doesn’t she feed that child?” she thought. “Over two days I have not seen her put a single bit of food before him. What kind of people are these?” She pulled the remainder of the bread from her meager collection and offered it to the waif. The child waddled across the aisle precariously and put out his tiny hand.
          “Thank ya, Ma’am. That’s right kindly o’ya. Where ya travl’n to?” the emaciated mother asked.
          “St. Peter,” Rebecca replied under her breath, uncomfortable with conversing with the female. “Then to Billington.” Rebecca turned away towards the window hoping her reply would sufficiently satisfy the woman’s curiosity.
          “Fine country there ya s’pose?” The young mother asked. “Home to ya, is it?”
          “No. Well, yes.” Rebecca looked straight ahead.
          “’Scuse  me?”
          “I’m going there to marry.” Rebecca bit her lip. “Why on earth did I even reply?” she asked herself. “It’s not her business where I live or don’t.”
          “Pit’ure bride are ya?” The woman pried on.
          “Pardon me?” Rebecca gasped
          “Y’re one of them pit’ure brides! They’s men there lookin’. That’s why I’m headed out this way m’self!”
          Rebecca’s face turned ashen and she steadied herself on the wooden bench. She felt her chest tighten and a cold chill of perspiration began running between her breasts and into her corset. She pushed her bundle frantically into her satchel and rose to exit the car.
          “This waif,” she thought to herself. “Why this girl couldn’t be more than fifteen, and two children in tow as well?” Rebecca scrambled to leave the car, her heart pounding loudly in her head.
          “Excuse me, Ma’am.” The porter planted himself in Rebecca’s path and took her arm. Rebecca felt the world around her reel and her legs go limp beneath her.
          “Are you alright, Ma’am?” The porter steadied her and eased her back into her seat.
          “I need to get off this train,” Rebecca whispered. Her mouth had turned dry and she felt her lips tingling. How could this be? A picture bride? “Oh, God, please,” she whispered.
          “You want off the train? The train’s about to leave the station,” the  porter urged.
          “No!” Rebecca gasped. “Please let me off now!”
          Rebecca felt herself being lifted down the aisle by two of the male passengers, one under each arm, her skirts dragging on the splinters of the rough floorboards. The dread was consuming her too rapidly for her to feel the embarrassment she would ordinarily have experienced at any other time from such rough handling.

 
     
    Chapter Two
     
     
                 T he men deposited her onto a log bench beside a small, closed station and she heard the call of “Alllll abooooooard!” The engine hissed and creaked as the train tugged away.
          Rebecca buried her face in her hands and sobbed violently.
          “What have I done?” she cried. “I don’t know where I am and my trunk is on the train.” Rebecca’s body rocked with agony.
          “If that girl is going where I’m going and she answered an ad and she’s one of the girls who…” She couldn’t bear to think about it.
          Rebecca pulled her satchel against her chest and rocked like a child. What did it matter that her skirts pulled rain from the puddles beneath her like a lantern wick? Nothing mattered to her now. Her life at home